


Yours Mine and Ours

by boonies



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, JYJ - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NaNoWriMo #4: jaechun with twins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours Mine and Ours

*

 

Jaejoong turns thirty-five and loses his fucking mind.

 

"Some famous couple in America did it," he tells Yoochun over the phone.

 

Tired, Yoochun rubs at one bloodshot eye. "Hyung. Are we a couple."

 

"...no," Jaejoong concedes with a sigh, the signal fades, so that's that, end of story.

 

*

 

But then Yoochun turns thirty-five, too.

 

*

 

"—so they had twins," Jaejoong tells Junsu, pouring him a sloppy shot of soju, "and neither of them knows whose kid is whose and—"

 

Nose wrinkled, Junsu slides the shot glass away, mournfully eyeing the exit. "I knew this was a trap."

 

"To be fair," Yoochun explains, sighing at the dim lights of their fifth izakaya, "it's less crazy than he makes it sound." The corner _sorry we're closed_ sign flickers. "It'll be just like owning another restaurant together."

 

"...how is impregnating a woman with both of your unholy seed anything like—"

 

"Junsu-yah," Jaejoong deadpans, "please never use any of those words again."

 

"I don't—" Junsu drags a shaky hand down his face, practically flaying his skin off. "I—wait, are you each just gonna take one or... I mean, they're not puppies... oh god, hyung, can't you just get another cat or a plane or an island."

 

Palms wet, Yoochun downs half a bottle of soju to calm his nerves.

 

"If it's twins—" he starts, unrehearsed, tone flat.

 

"Can't you just pick a nice girl and have babies the _normal_ way," Junsu snaps, mortified.

 

Yeah.

 

It's not like Yoochun hasn't tried to settle down.

 

It's not like there aren't nice girls.

 

It's just that a child is a lifelong commitment and Yoochun and blind faith don't seem to mix anymore.

 

Trust takes years to cultivate and Yoochun is too wary.

 

Probably to an unhealthy degree.

 

There's only room left for his family and his members; the people who _have_ to be with him forever and the people who've _chosen_ to.

 

So.

 

"God, hyung," Junsu breathes out, meeting Jaejoong's eyes. "You're trying to _buy_ a child."

 

"We're gonna do this," Jaejoong says firmly but fuck, Yoochun's sobering up and coming to his senses and this is wrong on all kinds of levels—

 

"And what are you gonna do about the mother," Junsu demands sharply, "just pay her to stay away and deprive your kid of—"

 

"Stop it," Yoochun hears himself say but the fact is.

 

The fact is, Yoochun hasn't thought this through.

 

He just got stupidly shitfaced one night, looked at Jaejoong's dumb drunk face, and said _okay, yeah, fuck it, let's do this_ because the moment was oddly reminiscent of that first time Jaejoong talked him into doing something completely batshit crazy, like walking out on a conglomerate, but _that_ worked out just fine eventually, so—

 

" _Yoochun_ ," Junsu says.

 

Jaejoong's features darken.

 

Yoochun falters.

 

"It'll be fine."

 

 

*

 

 

"I don't want to meet her."

 

Jaejoong unbuckles, shifting the gear into park. "...okay."

 

Grateful, Yoochun tugs on his seat belt. "So I'm gonna just... wait here."

 

Jaejoong pauses. "Just think of her as an oven."

 

"Hyung, that's... really fucking awful."

 

"Well," Jaejoong shrugs, aloof. "None of the ingredients are hers. It's gonna take four people to bake this cake."

 

"Never eating cake again."

 

Jaejoong fidgets with his seat belt, staring at the dimming dashboard, emotionless.

 

"Well, it's me and you and an anonymous donor and her," he tries. "It's like a game of poker, only everyone walks away a winner." He taps the steering wheel. "Everyone's gonna be happy." He leans back. "No one loses here."

 

"Okay," Yoochun says, reaching for Jaejoong's car keys. "I don't want to do this anymore."

 

Halfheartedly, Jaejoong fends him off.

 

"We should slow down," Yoochun tries again, fingers awkwardly clutching Jaejoong's wrists, "think this through."

 

"Yoochun-ah, I can't," Jaejoong says softly. "My dad's almost eighty."

 

Guilt pricks at the back of Yoochun's neck.

 

"And you already missed your chance to give _yours_ grandchildren," Jaejoong points out, meeting his eyes. "You wanna do that to your mom?"

 

...that's unfair.

 

It's cruel as fuck and hurtful and not like Jaejoong.

 

Unnerved, Yoochun averts his eyes.

 

"Can't we get separate donors at least," he asks, frustrated. He lets go of Jaejoong's wrists and folds his hands in his lap, mind racing. "If we don't, those kids will be biological half-siblings," he reasons. "Our kids will be related, god, hyung, are you really cool with that."

 

Jaejoong doesn't hesitate at all. "Yeah."

 

...this is fucked up.

 

It's fucked up but.

 

But the thing is, Jaejoong and Yoochun have always done things together.

 

Failed their driver's license exams together, picked the same university together, left the group together, opened up restaurants together.

 

So what's one more thing on the list.

 

*

 

"...will you..." his mother says with a blink, one trembling hand curled around a teacup, "...move in together?"

 

Blank, Yoohwan glances at the tablecloth.

 

"Hyung," he starts, then stops, nervously leaning his elbows on the table. "Seriously. Seriously, how the hell is this going to work."

 

Yoochun has no fucking idea.

 

"...who will have custody," his mother asks, rapid-fire, panic building in her voice. "You'll have to get them DNA tested to see which one is yours, but if they're siblings—are you going to move in together, Yoochunnie. Will you live together. Whose name will they be under. Whose family registry. Custody. You can't live together. You're already thirty-five—"

 

Anxiety coils low in Yoochun's gut, tangling around his tongue, smothering any kind of coherent reply.

 

"Hyung," Yoohwan intervenes, placing a twitchy hand on their mother's shaking shoulder. "One time," he says, sounding almost hysterical, "you bought me a belt."

 

"...what."

 

"And Jaejoong-hyung stole it before you gave it to me," Yoohwan laughs to himself, sounding disturbed and impressed at once. He pats their mother's back and asks pointedly, "Do you know how he apologized to me?"

 

...Yoochun knows.

  
With a bemused shake of his head, Yoohwan scoots his chair closer to their mother's and tells her, mimicking Jaejoong's whiny voice surprisingly well, " 'Yoohwannie, hyung is sorry, but my things are Yoochun's and Yoochun's things are mine."

 

*

 

_23:19 did you tell your mom_

 

_23:21 ...and am I still allowed to come over_

 

Yoochun glances at his phone, numb.

 

Tiredly, he writes _did you tell yours_.

 

_23:23 if you remember_

 

_23:23 my dad did say not to bother getting a wife_

 

_23:23 and to just bring home a kid_

 

Yoochun shouldn't laugh.

 

But he does.

 

*

 

 

It's easy.

 

Yoochun gets to wake up in the morning, gets to show up on set, gets to not deal with a single damn thing.

 

Aside from one awkward, humiliating visit to the hospital, Yoochun's life is intact.

 

Nothing changes.

 

Jaejoong doesn't ask him to meet the surrogate. Yoohwan doesn't ask him to change his mind. Junsu doesn't ask him _anything_.

 

And then one morning, during an intense action sequence in which Yoochun worries about approximately four of his vertebrae, his phone beeps in his back pocket.

 

He apologizes to the director for fucking up the scene.

 

And then apologizes again when he fucks up for the rest of the day.

 

*

 

"...is it a boy... and a girl...?" his mother asks with a hesitant squint, turning Yoochun's phone every which way.

 

It's two misshapen blobs in a sea of negative space, what the hell does Yoochun know.

 

"They'll... _we'll_ know after the next appointment," he says casually, stomach twisting.

 

"I hope ours is a girl," his mother says, eyes bright.

 

*

 

"I don't care either way," Jaejoong says around a mouthful of hitsumabushi.

 

Yoochun watches his jaw work, mind blank.

 

"Ah, names," Jaejoong adds as an afterthought, licking sauce off his fingers. "We can just pick unisex names, right."

 

"We," Yoochun starts, then freaks out. "I," he corrects, scraping his chopsticks across the grill, "need to stick with family tradition so I'm kinda screwed if it's a girl."

 

Jaejoong snorts, leaning into him in the booth. "There's Yoomin, Yoorin, Yoojin—"

 

Despite his perfectly valid plan to remain serious, Yoochun cracks up. "You realize Yoomin has certain... couple-y connotations, right."

 

Jaejoong pauses. "Oh," he makes a face. "I forgot."

 

Amused, Yoochun pops a piece of eel into his mouth, chewing around a slow, calculated, "I guess I kinda like Yoojin."

 

"So you take Yoojin," Jaejoong decides easily, picking another piece and dropping it on Yoochun's plate, "and I'll take Yoorin."

 

Yoochun tenses, watching Jaejoong out of the corner of his eye.

 

"...do they need to match."

 

Jaejoong shrugs.

 

"Did our tattoos have to."

 

*

 

 

"I got a pretty good deal," Jaejoong says, inspecting what legitimately looks like a massive wooden deathtrap. "Apparently, if you buy one, you get one free?"

 

Uneasy, Yoochun's mother pauses at the threshold.

 

"Jaejoongie... you're not going to..." she struggles around a tactful way to phrase it, then gives up. "Please don't try to assemble the cribs by yourself."

 

Jaejoong smiles up at her, all innocent adorableness. "No, Yoochun's gonna help."

 

Yoochun's mother pales. "That's not... no, I have to go call Yoohwan and some paramedics."

 

She lumbers away, and Yoochun stares at the crinkled instructions spread across Jaejoong's lap.

 

"Hyung, I was going to buy a crib next month," he argues. "One assembled by an expert."

 

Jaejoong ignores him.

 

Studiously, he narrows his eyes at the paper, then pokes at a wooden block with his toes. "Is that part D? Is that... did that even come with the package or do you just have random rods in your room."

  
Lured in, Yoochun folds himself on the floor next to Jaejoong. "...these are in English."

 

"Yeah," Jaejoong winces then passes the instructions to Yoochun with a sheepish pout. "Sorry. This always looks fun in movies."

 

Yoochun bites his lip so hard he draws blood.

 

"Hyung," he nods indulgently, picking up what he hopes are two matching no-kill pieces. "Did you sign the consent for DNA testing yet."

 

Eyes averted, Jaejoong tinkers with a mismatched set of screws. "Nah... I just. I don't want them to get hurt when they're so little, you know?"

 

Yoochun's been told it's a tiny prick of the needle, forgotten as soon as it happens, but his anxiety skyrockets, sudden and inexplicable, so he slides a thick railing into a tight socket, knee bumping Jaejoong's, and murmurs a soft, lenient,

 

"Okay."

 

*

 

"...wait, if you don't get them tested at birth," Junsu yawns into the phone, "how will you know which one to take home."

 

Yoochun pauses.

 

*

 

"Maybe we should," Yoochun starts awkwardly, poking his head into the studio, "live together."

 

Jaejoong's chair creaks as he swivels around, headphones around his neck.

 

"That..." he says carefully, voice low and steady, eyes dark. "Sure. Yeah."

 

"For a _little while_ ," Yoochun amends, gripping the doorknob until his knuckles ache, white and pink and rough. "Until they're old enough to be tested."

 

"Yeah," Jaejoong agrees, lips twitching, chest visibly rising, falling, rising. "Just for a little while."

 

 

*

 

 

Forlorn, Yoohwan rolls his eyes hard and spreads his arms to the ceiling and sighs, "Hyung, these days, you can test them _before_ birth—fuck it, I give up."

 

 

*

 

Grinning, Yoochun fans the script at his costar.

 

She pats his arm flirtatiously and takes a sip of water. "Careful, oppa, wouldn't want your girlfriend getting the wrong idea."

 

"I'm single," he smiles, biting his bottom lip with practiced coyness.

 

"Single like my ex-boyfriend," she ventures suspiciously, "who was dating two other women at the same time?"

 

Chuckling, Yoochun relaxes in his chair, scanning the set before them. He's sleepy and it's weirdly hot for March, and it takes so much effort to flirt, but he adds sparkle to his eyes and depth to his voice and says, "So what you're saying is: you're single, too."

 

She says something but Yoochun's phone vibrates under his ass.

 

_14:58 Yoochunnie, everything's ugly, what do I do_

 

—followed by a heavily filtered photo full of plain onesies and baby accessories—

 

_14:58 I can design better stuff in my sleep_

 

_14:58 ...hey, should I design better stuff_

 

_14:58 ...awake..._

 

Instinctively, Yoochun's fingers are writing back, unbidden, _sure, except wouldn't people start asking questions if Moldir suddenly launched a baby line?_

 

He can almost hear the offended huffing implicit in the following text.

 

_15:01 okay, but what if I market it to dog owners first_

 

Stupid with affection, Yoochun fights a lopsided, insistent smile.

 

"...yeah, you're not single," his costar grumbles, crossing her legs and shifting away in her chair.

 

 

*

 

"I'd totally help," Junsu says, "but I don't wanna."

 

Yoochun tries not to hang up.

 

"I checked your schedule," he warns, phone precariously perched on his shoulder. "You're free today."

 

"I don't see why you need help moving in," Junsu complains, cranky, " _two months early_."

 

"...we need time to..." Yoochun starts and tries to figure out why the hell he's moving in already. "You know. Adjust to living together again."

 

"You lived with him for four hundred years," Junsu points out, tone increasing in pitch and volume and decreasing in patience. "Just hire some movers. Outsource it. Isn't that what you're doing with—"

 

Yoochun hangs up.

 

*

 

"Junsu says he's sorry," Jaejoong greets, head cocked, sleeves rolled up. "I don't know what he's sorry about but there's... just so many things to pick from..."

 

Yoochun shoves past him and dumps a box to the floor, Yoohwan in tow.

 

"Hyung's on the warpath," Yoohwan translates, happily lugging a thing of clothes over his shoulder. "You know how moody pregnant ladies can g—"

 

Yoochun levels him with a glare.

 

"Shutting up," Yoohwan grins, making a show of giving Jaejoong a pitying _he's your burden now_ sad face.

 

Rattled with a potent jumble of unnamed emotions, Yoochun ambles into the kitchen.

 

He needs a drink.

 

...of water.

 

He should get used to drinking water.

 

Robotically, he pulls the fridge door open, bends to pick up a bottle, and ends up staring at the thermostat.

 

Just.

 

It's not like he doesn't fucking know how fucking fucked up this is.

 

It's abnormal and lazy and cowardly and typical of entitled spoiled rich people with no room in their schedules to accommodate a—

 

He could have adopted.

 

He's well aware.

 

He could've just married one of his old girlfriends.

 

But he didn't, okay.

 

He made a mistake and it's Jaejoong's fault, just like most of the dumb things Yoochun's done are Jaejoong's fault, from smoking to drinking to tattoos.

 

Jaejoong is the worst habit Yoochun has.

 

And Yoochun doesn't know how to break it.

 

"Here," Jaejoong grunts, smacking something to the side of Yoochun's face.

 

It's two pairs of ugly baby socks, monogrammed with the Moldir logo.

 

Yoochun straightens, lets the fridge click shut, then pulls a wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket.

 

"Here," he says and slaps a lullaby to Jaejoong's chest.

 

*

 

"I'm gonna have a kid," Jaejoong announces to the dressing room.

 

Two of his sisters inattentively wave him off, preoccupied with pre-concert tweets, folded next to each other on the couch.

 

"Next month."

 

Yoochun burns up, face strategically tucked behind a magazine.

 

Jaejoong's sisters freeze.

 

"Are you trying to kill our parents," one demands over the other's much louder, "WITH WHO."

 

Junsu ducks behind a curtain, awkwardly peace-ing out at Yoochun.

 

"Dad said to just bring a kid home," Jaejoong reasons but his shoulders are stiff and his back is tense and the frown line between his eyebrows is so deep that Yoochun reluctantly pushes off of the makeup chair and trudges closer.

 

"Jaejoongie, what," one of Jaejoong's sisters demands, scowling with concern. "Who can you possibly be having a child with?"

 

"Technically," Yoochun says because he's the stupidest fucking person alive. "Me?"

 

Before he can correct himself like a person who is _not_ a lunatic, one of Jaejoong's sisters pauses angrily, scoots away a little to grab her purse, then slaps her entire wallet at her sister.

 

"...we kinda had a bet going," Jaejoong's other sister shrugs.

 

 

*

 

 

So the thing is.

 

It's not real for nine months.

 

In Yoochun's head, it's something that's theoretical, hypothetical, indefinitely postponed, not actually happening.

 

It doesn't even feel real when they show him the things, swathed tight in soft pink baby blankets.

 

They look unreal, like wrinkled hairless dolls and one of them is his, one of them is half-him, half all the good things, half all the bad things he's brought with him, she's half of him but somehow all his.

 

Yoochun stares, blank, for ten minutes.

 

He can't tell the difference between them; tries to decide _oh yeah, this one has my nose_ or _that one looks like Jaejoong_ , but they don't look like anyone Yoochun knows.

 

For a moment, he breathes a sigh of relief, like an animal who's found itself in a malfunctioning trap.

 

And then one of them opens her mouth, tiny pink lips puckering, and starts to wail so loudly the glass partition beneath Yoochun's palms shakes.

 

The other one follows, louder and more obnoxious, until a nurse checks on her and where the hell is Jaejoong.

 

Where the hell is everyone.

 

Why is Yoochun here by himself.

 

The nurse taps on the glass, cradling one of the pink things, and mouths _you can hold her_.

 

Yoochun's held plenty of babies before but there's a sudden rush of trepidation cracking his ribcage.

 

Because what if this one's Jaejoong's, not Yoochun's— _Jaejoong_ should go first—

 

Somehow, he finds himself holding the thing anyway.

 

 

*

 

"Which one's ours," Jaejoong's sister asks then flinches guiltily.

 

Yoohwan bends over the sturdy hospital crib, inspecting the napping bundles.

 

"No offense," he whispers to Yoochun, "but they look like potatoes so I'm just gonna assume they're both ours."

 

Exhausted, Yoochun nods, eyeing the door.

 

He has to register names and things and Jaejoong's still not here.

 

They can't go home without names.

 

"Mom's gonna be here soon," Yoohwan says quietly, patting Yoochun's back.

 

"Our parents are on their way, too," Jaejoong's sister says, checking her phone.

 

Which is fine.

 

It's fine but Jaejoong needs to get here.

 

He needs to sort shit out and pick names and thank the surrogate because Yoochun can't.

 

Nauseated, he brushes past his brother and Jaejoong's sister and slips into the hallway, wincing at the bright lights.

 

He leans against the wall.

 

Takes out his phone.

 

Sees Jaejoong rushing down the hallway, hair a disaster.

 

"Sorry," he breathes out, colliding with Yoochun and pressing into him with a raspy emotional laugh, "traffic, Yoochunnie—" his arms wrap around Yoochun's neck hard enough to choke.

 

Yoochun's hands grasp harder.

 

*

 

It's a blur of helpful naggy people for a couple of days.

 

Yoochun's mother's cranked up to eleven, a combination of hyper and terrified, lecturing him on how lucky he is because the girls are calm and sleep well and are nothing like how he was as a baby, and Jaejoong's mother has a habit of randomly pinching his face and his butt and reminding him how to change a diaper.

 

Yoochun knows how to change diapers and mix formula and deal with gross shit like dangling umbilical cords.

 

But.

 

"...I feel like we need an adult," Jaejoong says once everyone's finally cleared out of the apartment.

 

Yoochun surveys the room.

 

"I think we're the adults."

 

"Fuck."

 

*

 

 

It feels like a chore, but Yoochun's used to not sleeping, so he zombies his way through the first week, feeling...

 

...not _nothing_.

 

There's something.

 

Something sort of wrong.

 

Maybe kind of criminal and shameful; like someone's going to knock on his door and demand he return the kid or share it and Yoochun's not prepared to share.

 

"That's not gonna happen," Jaejoong says in passing, tripping over a ripped pack of diapers on the floor.

 

His hair is ridiculous and he's parading around in just a pair of even more ridiculous boxers, balancing two baby bottles in one hand.

 

Yoochun trails behind him absentmindedly.

 

"What's not gonna happen," he asks, collapsing into a chair next to one of the cribs.

 

Jaejoong pokes his tongue out in concentration, nudging the bottle closer with great drama. "Whatever pessimistic crap you're spinning in your head."

 

Yoochun looks up.

 

Gingerly, Jaejoong bends to kiss Yoorin's forehead.

 

With an instant twitch, she fusses in her sleep and fends him off, waving one uncoordinated chubby hand but her nails are too long and kinda sharp and Jaejoong straightens, rubbing at the scratch with a pout.

 

Determined, he scoots over to the other crib and tries to kiss Yoojin's cheek.

 

She starts wailing.

 

Choking on a sudden hysterical laugh, Yoochun escapes the room.

 

 

*

 

 

His break in filming is almost over.

 

And so Yoochun wakes up on his thirty-sixth birthday, showers, shaves... puts on a pair of pajama pants and goes back to bed.

 

He's sitting up against a pile of pillows, watching some old drama on his laptop, when Jaejoong pads into his room, and gently lays a sleeping Yoojin next to Yoochun's hip.

 

Yoochun raises an eyebrow but Jaejoong just walks out.

 

So Yoochun spends five minutes not moving.

 

And then Yoojin shifts a little and naturally falls into the slight dip in the mattress, pressing into Yoochun's side, soft breaths warming his skin through his pajama pants.

 

"...okay, potato," he grins and angles his laptop away, circling his thumb around a soft tuft of hair. "Are we bonding."

 

A tiny warm breath is his only answer.

 

He scoots to give her room but she rolls with gravity, faceplanting into him again.

 

Fine.

 

Okay.

 

Cautiously, he curls his fingers under her tiny shoulders and hoists her up to his chest.

 

 _This one's mine_ flickers briefly through his head but when he looks up, Jaejoong's by his bed again, hair mussed, Yoorin cradled in his arms and lazily sucking on a bottle, eyes unfocused.

 

Obviously sleepy, Jaejoong maneuvers himself next to Yoochun, trying to fluff the pillows with one hand, and lowers Yoorin to his lap.

 

"Cartoons," he commands, voice still rough with disuse, legs stretched out next to Yoochun's, toes bare.

 

Yoochun tilts the laptop so Jaejoong can watch, too, and pulls up a random video.

 

It's like this, fifteen minutes later, with both girls sprawled atop them, warm and asleep and real, that Jaejoong murmurs, not meeting his eyes, "Happy birthday."

 

Yoochun's throat tightens.

 

"Yeah."

 

*

 

 

"They're not cats."

 

Offended, Junsu lifts his hand off Yoojin's head.

 

"So which one's yours?" he asks conversationally, eyes darting from one crib to the other.

 

Yoochun freezes.

 

"We didn't..." he starts awkwardly.

 

"Because I thought you were naming yours Yoojin," Junsu explains patiently, leaning over the other crib. "So I'm assuming."

 

"Just because she has that name doesn't mean—" Yoochun murmurs, trailing off.

 

"Yoochun-ah," Junsu asks kindly, "what are you _doing_."

 

*

 

Two months in, the filming schedule overshoots a deadline and Yoochun's stuck on set for two days.

 

At least two of Jaejoong's sisters are around to help and Yoochun's genuinely grateful and all, but.

 

There's an irrational pang of _that's mine, you can't_ whenever someone else is near.

  
Except for Jaejoong, because Yoochun's plodded in during midnight feedings and found Jaejoong's beaten him to it, has found him gracelessly passed out in chairs with Yoojin or Yoorin or both, and felt nothing but a profoundly helpless sort of affection.

 

So he drags himself home at some ungodly hour, so tired he can't function.

 

Out of habit, he makes a beeline for the girls' room and slips in quietly.

 

Yoojin's asleep, suckling on a pacifier.

 

One crib over, Yoorin's awake, just sprawled on her back, round little face drawn to the dim hallway lights.

 

Guardedly, Yoochun tries to tiptoe out.

 

A soft gurgling noise stops him in his tracks.

 

With a worried scowl, he returns to the crib, casting a long shadow over the kid.

 

Yoorin smiles at him.

 

...no, he thinks, _this_ one's definitely his.

 

Overwhelmed, he tucks her pacifier back in, and shuffles out.

 

He means to just go to his own room and keel over into a coma but his feet reroute him to Jaejoong's.

 

"I don't want the test," he tells him, knees bumping against the mattress.

 

Groggy, Jaejoong pushes up on his elbows, trying to focus on Yoochun's silhouette.

 

"I don't want to know," Yoochun says, eyes burning. "They're both mine."

 

Jaejoong sits up, sheets pooling around his hips.

 

"Hyung," Yoochun apologizes brokenly, "I'm sorry."

 

Quiet, Jaejoong pulls him down to the mattress.

 

Jaejoong's seen Yoochun crying and sick and blackout drunk.

 

He's seen hateful, awful, unacceptable parts of Yoochun and not judged him so Yoochun shamelessly burrows into Jaejoong's chest and drifts off, strangely mended.

 

*

 

"Is this a photoshoot," Yoochun complains but poses by the crib obediently.

 

Grinning, Jaejoong aims the video camera lower and ignores him. "Okay. Smile."

 

Oblivious, Yoorin focuses on staring at her tiny Moldir socks, chubby legs bent weird.

 

Yoochun bites back a grin.

 

"You said she smiled," Jaejoong whines, zooming in.

 

"At _me_ ," Yoochun points out, tugging Yoojin out of her crib and setting her down next to Yoorin.

 

They smush their fingers together, both relentlessly fascinated by Yoorin's left sock.

 

Jaejoong pauses.

 

"One of them has to smile, right," he muses sadly, then threatens, "appa's got all day, okay."

 

"You have a meeting at four," Yoochun drawls but his pulse is spiking dangerously.

 

Two months and neither one of them has used that word before.

 

He's stupidly grateful Jaejoong's gone first.

 

"Yoojin-ah," Yoochun says, pitching his voice lower. "Smile for appa."

 

Yoojin bats at the air with an unsteady hand but her mouth stretches into a hesitant toothless grin.

 

Yoorin follows.

 

Jaejoong knocks Yoochun out of the way, not at all gently, camera whirring. "Not cool, Chun-ah."

 

Between them, the word appa slips out roughly two hundred times by noon.

 

*

 

Winter rolls around, harsh and unforgiving.

 

Yoochun's double-booked again because shit happens and Jaejoong's simultaneously opening two new stores because shit happens, and teething happens and fevers and colic and miserable sleepless shit happens.

 

"I can't switch my schedule around," Jaejoong snaps over the phone, heavy construction noise blaring in the background.

 

Yoochun is barely functioning, stuck in traffic between sets, hungry and thirsty and sleep-deprived and he apparently missed the girls sitting up by themselves for the first time, so he growls, "They can't stay with your sister."

 

"If I cancel this meeting again—" Jaejoong starts, exasperated.

 

"You can't just abandon them like they're dogs," Yoochun says because there's something tense and ugly and stupidly possessive twining through his thoughts, "or pawn them off on your sisters—"

 

Jaejoong goes silent.

 

Yoochun stops at a red light.

 

Fuck.

 

"Hyung," he says, because if anyone knows about abandonment, it's Jaejoong, "I'm. No. God, I'm sorry."

 

Jaejoong hangs up.

 

*

 

"Yeah," Yoohwan flinches, expertly drops a spoonful of formula into the bottle, caps and shakes it, "you fucked up."

 

Distressed, Yoochun sinks into the chair. "Why would I say that."

 

"Well," Yoohwan sighs, clearly done with the conversation but persevering anyway, "are you having enough sex? Noona told me that's the number one reason new parents fuck up."

 

Yoochun offers him a frustrated noise. "I don't have time to start dating some girl."

 

"...why would you date a..." Yoohwan starts, then adjusts Yoojin in his lap and belatedly tries to cover her ears. "I meant with hyung."

 

"...what."

 

Uncomfortable, Yoohwan makes a face at the wall. "Just make sure you and hyung have... more... sex, fuck, I don't need to be talking about this, why are you making me."

 

Yoorin stirs on Yoohwan's bed, fussy.

 

Yoochun barely registers it.

 

"We're not..." Yoochun says, bewildered. "You know I'm straight, right."

 

"...you live with a guy..." Yoohwan points out, eyes dead, "...and you're raising kids together... who are biologically yours and his..."

 

"You're making it sound weird."

 

Yoohwan scowls, reprimand mode engaged. "Seriously. Are you serious. Weird? Hyung, did you _accidentally_ commit yourself in every conceivable way and _accidentally_ add two kids to our family registry and _accidentally_ do everything humanly possible to tie hyung down to you—"

 

Yoojin fidgets in his arms, stubbornly trying to grab the bobbing bottle.

 

"No," Yoochun says, because he's practiced defending himself in case the story ever leaks, in case the media, or the public finds out about bandmates raising test tube babies together, in case, just in case, in case this thing or that thing or the other, "hyung and I are both workaholics with demanding schedules so it made sense—and," how the fuck did the rest of that speech go, "and male wolves raise puppies together in the wild—"

 

"ARE WE A WOLF PACK—"

 

On the bed, Yoorin rolls over on her own, flops onto her belly, kicks a pillow off, and crawls under a baby blanket.

 

Yoohwan lowers his voice, shakily guiding the bottle to Yoojin's mouth.

 

"If _I_ figured it out seventeen years ago," he says in a loud whisper, "when he ruined my belt—"

 

"...why always the belt..."

 

"—how the hell haven't _you_."

 

Yoochun drags a hand down his face. "It's not like that."

 

Yoohwan's features soften.

 

"Hyung. How dumb can you be."

 

*

 

"...how stupid are you," Junsu asks, buzzing him in.

 

Yoochun stumbles into the foyer, depressed.

 

"Wolves," he offers helplessly.

 

"...okay," Junsu nods and boots him into the living room.

 

It's spotless and bright despite how fucking late it is and Jaejoong's brooding on the sofa.

 

Junsu sidesteps Yoochun and instructs, "I can't believe I'm actually advocating this, but _please_ get really freakin' drunk with each other and get your shit together." He closes his eyes, clasps his hands in prayer, and chants under his breath, "Yoorin-ah, Yoojin-ah, oppa is sorry."

 

"WHO'S OPPA," Jaejoong shouts.

 

Junsu scrunches up his nose and bails.

 

"I have to be on set in four hours," Yoochun says, unmoving.

 

Jaejoong leans his elbows on his knees. "I know."

 

"They're with Yoohwan and my mom—"

 

"I know."

 

Yoochun shuts his eyes tight, then opens them. "Yoohwan said—"

 

"Your brother told me to get laid or we'll keep fighting," Jaejoong interjects, rising. "I don't want to keep fighting, Yoochunnie." He closes the distance with reluctance. "So I'm going to start dating."

 

*

 

Okay, well, that's.

 

Normal.

 

They've dated other people while owning restaurants together. This isn't different. It shouldn't have any impact on their relationship.

 

"I think Yoojin's running a fever," Yoochun says and it's kind of not true.

 

Jaejoong meets his eyes in the mirror, brush pausing over his bangs with concern. "Should I stay home."

 

Yoochun shrugs. "Nah, just letting you know so you don't shut your phone off during your date."

 

Jaejoong bites his lips, contemplating. "I should stay home."

 

Too casual, Yoochun ducks out of the bathroom with a parting, "Okay."

 

 

*

 

"Don't to it," Yoochun warns.

 

Yoorin looks him straight in the eye.

 

Then speed-crawls toward the coffee table like a hellbent little spider and whacks Yoochun's glass to the ground.

 

"...we have cats not daughters," Jaejoong concludes, combing through Yoojin's bangs. "In twenty years, when you write albums about what shit parents we were," he tells her dolefully, "please at least mention how great appa's hair was, okay."

 

Yoojin makes a soft noise and clumsily pats his face.

 

*

 

"She had a nightmare," Yoochun says in the middle of the night, yanking Jaejoong's covers off.

 

Jaejoong rolls over, groggy, and automatically reaches out for whichever child's being proffered. "Wuh."

 

"Apparently, they can have nightmares even this young," Yoochun says and it's totally almost true. "Your bed's bigger, so..."

 

Jaejoong settles on his side, curling around Yoorin with a yawn.

 

"Okay," Yoochun nods to himself then hastily pads off and returns with Yoojin.

 

"Separation anxiety," he explains off Jaejoong's puzzled look.

 

Unconvinced, Jaejoong hums, nuzzling Yoorin's cheek, and pats the empty space behind her.

 

Carefully, Yoochun lowers Yoojin to the mattress.

 

Confused and barely awake, she babbles something suspiciously surly at her sister then topples over in a puppy pile next to her.

 

Jaejoong cracks one eye open.

 

"My bed has no railings," he reminds. "What if they fall off the other side while I'm asleep."

 

"Yeah," Yoochun agrees and climbs in.

 

*

 

It's hard to get them to stay in their cribs after that.

 

Impossible, really.

 

*

 

 

_06:11 they said appa_

 

Yoochun fucks up an entire series of scenes.

 

*

 

 

"Yoochunnie," his mother says, amused, signal fizzling as he passes through a tunnel, "they have at least three more months before they can say—"

 

Yoochun breaks all the traffic laws anyway.

 

*

 

Junsu's hunched over a composition when Yoochun bursts into the apartment.

 

"We've lost him," Junsu sermonizes from the floor, nibbling on a pencil and pointing at the corner.

 

Jaejoong's sitting nearby, leaning against a large bay window, one kid passed out over his left foot, the other sprawled and drooling under his right knee.

 

Yoochun laughs so hard and so uncontrollably his heart fractures.

 

"...this album's never getting done," Junsu mumbles and gathers a stack of music sheets.

 

Shoulders shaking, Yoochun drops to his knees by Jaejoong.

 

"Yoochunnie, I have a cramp," he complains, rooted.

 

"Where," Yoochun asks warmly and tries to slowly extricate at least one demon.

 

" _Everywhere_."

 

Yoojin startles as though spring-loaded, eyes blinking open with effort. She unfolds herself in a weirdly familiar way, neck stretching, then smiles an even more familiar smile and says, "Pah."

 

"Me," Jaejoong says excitedly, patting his chest. "I'm pah."

 

Unsteadily, Yoorin lifts her head off the carpet, squinting, hair sticking up, and makes a happy familiar noise that maybe kinda possibly sounds like pah, too.

 

"Pah," Yoochun points at himself, capturing both their attention.

 

"No," Jaejoong says. "I'm pah."

 

Both tiny heads swivel in his direction.

 

"Pah," Yoochun laughs, palming Jaejoong's knees.

 

The heads turn again.

 

"Pah," Jaejoong insists.

 

Yoochun can't stop, won't stop, "Pah."

 

"I'm not gonna be eomma, you idiot," Jaejoong grumbles, voice rough.

 

"Yot," Yoorin repeats.

 

Yoochun stops laughing. "...is she trying to say idiot."

 

"Yot," Yoojin echoes.

 

Jaejoong pales. "...shit."

 

"STOP SAYING BAD THINGS IN FRONT OF YOUR CHILDREN," Junsu snaps, slamming the pencil to the ground and scrambling to his feet.

 

"Yoorin-ah, Yoojin-ah," he coaxes, stretching out both hands, "come here and let oppa-yah teach you nicer words, okay?"

 

" _Oppa_ ," Jaejoong drawls soullessly over Yoochun's even more unimpressed, "Oppa- _yah_."

 

"Pah," the girls babble in unison, sparkling up at Junsu with uncharacteristic glee, twenty tiny fingers happily outstretched toward him.

 

Horrified, Yoochun meets Jaejoong's eyes.

 

"Oh," he says.

 

Jaejoong agrees. " _No_."

 

*

 

On a Tuesday night, Jaejoong comes home late.

 

Yoochun's in the kitchen, pacing with Yoorin because she's teething pretty bad and won't stay asleep and won't eat or drink or play with things, so he's in the middle of singing lullaby #63 when Jaejoong sidles up from behind and rests his chin on Yoochun's shoulder.

 

He smells like snow and lip balm and sends chills down Yoochun's spine when he breathes, "Hey."

 

"Our mom used to rub soju on our gums when we were teething," Yoochun says because his arms feel numb and heavy and his heart can't take this.

 

"Ours, too," Jaejoong says and presses into Yoochun's back, leeching heat, hand curling over Yoochun's shoulder to tangle in Yoorin's sweat-matted hair.

 

"That explains... most of our problems," Yoochun grins.

 

Tenderly, Jaejoong kisses Yoorin's forehead.

 

Then presses his lips to Yoochun's neck.

 

"My dad wants everyone over for the new year," he murmurs into his skin.

 

Yoochun's fraying at the edges, too fast.

 

"Does he know we didn't get the DNA t—"

 

Jaejoong burrows between Yoochun's shoulder blades, palms his hips, and laughs, kind of brokenly, "You think my dad cares about DNA."

 

Yoochun has no idea what people care about anymore but he knows this has to stop.

 

Between inadequacy and doubt and going in circles, Yoochun's heart has muscle memory, has a homing beacon, has space only for this.

 

"Chun-ah, I never once thought one is mine and one is yours," Jaejoong says softly. "The only thing I truly consider mine..." he tells Yoochun's back, "...is you."

 

Yoochun's breath catches.

 

"...I figured out why you always beat me at chess," he exhales.

 

Jaejoong smiles against his neck. "Because I'm always five steps ahead of you."

 

Yoochun turns around.

 

Yoorin sniffles in her sleep.

 

"I think I caught up," Yoochun offers.

 

Jaejoong stares, eyes dark.

 

"Put her to bed," he says with promise, and so Yoochun wordlessly starts for Jaejoong's bedroom, toes the door open, and tucks her next to Yoojin.

 

The moment Yoochun's hands are free, Jaejoong's roughly turning him around, walking him backwards into a wall, covering his mouth like a tidal wave.

 

"Not here," Yoochun manages, thinking about belts and chess pieces and tiny monogrammed socks. "My room."

 

" _Other_ room," Jaejoong corrects, dragging his teeth across Yoochun's bottom lip, because _this_ is Yoochun's room now and Yoochun's home and just—

 

"Fuck," he groans and digs his fingers into Jaejoong's sides, presses hard enough to bruise, thinks only in terms of _mine_.

 

They stumble into the hallway in a tangle of limbs, knock down a row of creepy Mickey portraits, and through a haze, Yoochun vaguely remembers he didn't block off Jaejoong's bed with pillows and that's potentially bad for babies so he pushes Jaejoong away, with effort and the barest hint of restraint, and says, "Wait, the kids could get hurt."

 

"We'll make new ones," Jaejoong promises impatiently, then sobers.

 

Guiltily, he drags Yoochun back into the bedroom and forces him down into an apologetic low bow with him. "Yoorin-ah, Yoojin-ah, appa didn't mean that."

 

"Appa is sorry," Yoochun plays along, face splitting in two.

 

Their kids are asleep and they don't care, but Yoochun's not apologizing to them anyway.

 

"Hyung," he says with care. "I'm sorry."

 

And then he unapologetically drags Jaejoong away, burning with need and greed and all things extreme.

 

Only because it's been criminally long since Yoochun's had sex.

 

Not because Yoochun's so in love with Jaejoong his fucking soul aches.

 

*

 

"How are you still not ready," Junsu whines, poking his head into the living room, nose red with cold.

 

Yoochun punts a toy at his head.

 

"We lost... all of their shoes," Jaejoong translates, bending to look under the coffee table. "How did we lose all of their shoes."

 

Junsu checks his watch. "Do they really _need_ shoes..."

 

Yoochun levels him with a deadly glare.

 

Junsu averts his eyes. "...maybe check under the couch..."

 

As if on a mission, Yoojin crawls around a chair, pacifier hanging from her mouth, special snow outfit already destroyed.

 

"Where's your sister," Yoochun asks, distracted.

 

Yoojin ignores him, making a stubborn wobbly beeline for Junsu, Jaejoong's oversized sunglasses covering half her face.

 

"We lost one," Yoochun announces.

 

Jaejoong straightens from his search.

 

Pauses for a moment.

 

Hollers, "JUNSU."

 

Yoorin's head pops up behind the couch.

 

Yoochun watches her scan the room, lighting up when she zeroes in on Junsu's dumb face, so he paws at Jaejoong's arm, desperate. "No. Undo it."

 

Jaejoong makes a face as she scurries towards the door, knees and palms dirty, hair enthusiastically flopping over her forehead, eyes wide with single-minded focus.

 

Junsu gives them a smug grin, basking in the impending attention.

 

"This isn't gonna work for me," Jaejoong deadpans. "They're systematically undoing two decades of bullying, Yoochunnie, that's not right."

 

Yoochun opens his mouth to grumble but catches the soft look on Jaejoong's face.

 

It's a _we made a good thing_ face.

 

It's Yoochun's favorite face.

 

"They don't need shoes if I carry them," Junsu decides helpfully as Yoojin reaches him first, batting at his ankle. "I'll carry them. Yeah."

 

Yoorin wraps tiny insistent fingers around his pantleg.

 

"On the bright side," Yoochun muses, brow knitting in thought, "if they ever get mad at us, we can just throw Junsu at them as a distraction."

 

Jaejoong gives him a betrayed wounded look but his lips are twitching at the corners.

 

"Ah," he soliloquies melodramatically, starting for the door, "where did I go wrong."

 

Yoochun yanks him back.

 

"Absolutely nowhere."


End file.
